Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee!

No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery.

Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees.

O Blithe newcomer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?

I care not for these ladies, That must be wooed and prayed; Give me kind Amaryllis, The wanton country maid. Nature art disdaineth; Her beauty is her own.

Her robe is a cloud, her face a flower; Her balcony, glimmering with the bright spring dew, Is either the tip of earth's Jade Mountain, Or a moon-edged roof of…

Love, then unstinted, Love did sip, And cherries plucked fresh from the lip; On cheeks and roses free he fed; Lasses like autumn plums did drop, And lads indif…